Paragal turned and, like a phantom, silently passed into the throne room. Darkened murals of heroes from Alleble’s past hung high between tall, arched windows of stained glass. These knights and ladies of great honor witnessed Paragal’s approach to the seat that should not be his. He did not look up at them, for they were but memories and powerless to hinder his plans. His eyes were riveted to the throne.
King Eliam’s high seat was made of a precious white marble, and even in the dark it seemed to glow. Paragal ran his thin fingers over one armrest, closed his eyes and, intoxicated with the moment, let his head roll back. For now he allowed himself just a taste. Later, though, he would drink deeply of glory and would have his fill.
Paragal knew that King Eliam would be in The Library, as was his custom before sunup. It was his time to write, when The Realm was still and quiet, and all concerns could wait for the light of day. By dawn, he would no doubt have penned several new scrolls to add to Alleble’s illustrious history.
Torches flickered on the inside wall of the curving stairs as Paragal ascended. He ducked under a wooden arch and crossed the threshold of the King’s sacred courtyard outside on a large gatehouse. There, in the center of the courtyard, Paragal paused a moment and beheld The Stones of White Fire and the great tower Library. Twelve stones, inlaid on the floor, formed a circular barrier surrounding the tower. Each stone was inscribed with a word from the sacred first scroll of Alleble. The first scroll was the only scroll in the entire Library that was kept sealed. Not even Paragal was permitted to read the first scroll. It was said in legends that the first scroll contained the past and the future, the entire history of every being in the realm of Alleble from beginning to end, the sum total of all the other scrolls that had been or ever would be written. But no one knew how that could be . . . if it was true.
The twelve words on the twelve stones seemed written in liquid fire, and white tongues spouted from them and rose into a great inferno. The Library was engulfed in a writhing wall of flame that would suffer no being to enter, except King Eliam and his Sentinel. And the Sentinel entered.
The flames licked all around Paragal, but no harm came to him. Once past the fire, he entered The Library and the writing sanctuary on the first level. There were nine levels in The Library, each above the other, joined by a central spiral stair and a network of ladders and trapdoors.
Hand on the hilt of his sword, Paragal entered and walked past shelves that reached from floor to ceiling. Each level held scrolls beyond number, and Paragal had read every one, word for word. All except for the first scroll kept in a locked chest on the ninth level—and, of course, the scroll on the desk in front of King Eliam.
The ink on that scroll was wet, and the pen was still in the hand of its author.
“You have come earlier than you are wont,” said the King, his back turned to Paragal. “Come in, my Sentinel. Have you news?”
“Yes, m’lord,” said Paragal. “There is a matter I would speak to you about.”
The King dipped the pen into a dark bottle of ink and continued writing. “I will gladly attend to your wish, for this scroll is nearly complete.”
“M’lord, if you please,” said Paragal through gritted teeth. He despised having to beg like a mongrel at his master’s table. “It is an urgent matter that will not wait.”
“Very well, Paragal,” said King Eliam. He turned and rose to look upon his Sentinel. Whether it was some trick of the candle’s light, Paragal could not tell, but he thought there was an odd look in the King’s eyes. Surely he cannot suspect, Paragal thought.
“Let us speak, then,” said the King.
“There is some trouble among the Elder Guard. Will you come?” asked Paragal, gesturing out of The Library.
“Trouble?” echoed the King. “Lead me where you will.”
Together they left The Library of Light and passed through the flames. Then the throne room—they walked by the marble seat of the King. The moonlight cast Paragal’s large shadow over the throne as they passed.
No words were spoken as Paragal led the King down a long hall and then by the stair to Guard’s Keep. They did not travel the stair. Instead Paragal guided King Eliam to a seldom-used door, the door to the great stone balcony above Guard’s Keep. The King paused momentarily to allow Paragal to open the door and escort him out into the cool air of the fading night.
Beyond the waist-high parapets lay the still gray shadows of Alleble. Towers, cottages—even the fountains seemed to rest unaware.
Paragal walked out toward the center of the vast balcony and brushed his hand along a rectangular block of marble that stood about four feet in height and was about as long and wide as a tomb.
“What is this you have led me to see, Paragal?”
“It is an altar.”
The King stared at the back of his Sentinel. “An altar for what purpose?”
“Come and see, my lord,” said Paragal.
Paragal stepped to the brink of the balcony wall and waited for the King.
When King Eliam approached, Paragal pointed over the wall down into the courtyard. The King’s gaze followed, and his eyes widened.
Men, women, and children, bound by their hands and gagged, trembled waist-deep in the vast fountain nearest the castle. Soldiers with torches ablaze surrounded them, and bowmen with flaming arrows fitted to their bowstrings stood at the ready.
“There is trouble with the Elder Guard, my lord,” said Paragal.
“Paragal, what have you done?” said the King. His hand crept slowly to the hilt of his sword.
“It is simply what I have been prepared for my entire life. I am fair and wise and powerful, and yet, while you live, I am but a puppet— a servant never allowed to achieve the grandeur I deserve.”
“Paragal, you have been as a son to me.”
“A pet, you mean. A servant. Always I am second!” Paragal raged. He drew Cer Muryn and slashed the air as he spoke. “But no longer. Your precious Elder Guard, their wives and children all wait to see what sort of King you truly are. The fountain is filled now with fuel oil and will kindle into a pool of fire with a kiss from a flaming arrow. I have but to signal and they perish.”
The King’s shoulders sagged and his head lolled to the side as if something he had long expected had finally occurred, but the weight of it was more devastating than he had imagined.
Paragal’s voice lowered to a gravelly whisper. “Oft you have spoken of sacrifice. Will your deeds match your words? You must now choose, my lord: Your life or theirs?”
The King’s eyes narrowed. “You are wise, indeed, Paragal. But your wisdom is tainted by this treachery. Do you believe that by murder, you will gain the love and respect of all the free folk of Alleble?”
Paragal’s eyes narrowed. He stepped just a breath away from the King. “If they do not give me their love freely,” Paragal said, “then I will take it at the edge of the sword or . . . by fire!”
“That is fear, not love,” said the King.
“Nevertheless, it is what I will. And finally, my will be done— not yours.”
Paragal gestured toward the altar with the tip of his blade.
“So, great King,” he seethed. “Will you lay aside your crown for your people? Will you redeem their trust in you? Or would you watch them perish in such fire and allow their screams to haunt you forever?”
The King looked one last time into the eyes of his people, into the eyes of the children. They were frightened and shivered as much from fear as from the morning chill. But there was more in their eyes than fear. The King smiled at them kindly and removed his sword.
And then Eliam, the mighty King of Alleble, lay down upon the bed of stone.
Bloodlust gleaming in his eyes, Paragal approached the altar and gripped his sword, Cer Muryn, the sword forged by the King. The spark once kindled by Paragal’s purity was gone. The onyxes in the sword’s hilt were as lifeless and cold as ice.
Paragal held the blade aloft high above the King�
�s neck. The captives in the fountain stirred restlessly.
“Have you any parting words, my lord?” the Sentinel asked, sneering.
“Your name,” said the King. “Your name, Paragal, in the old tongue, means ‘one of pure light,’ and so you once were. But know this: When your stroke falls, so shall your own star fall. Your light will go out, and you will earn a new name. You shall be called Paragor—‘one of pure darkness.’ Darkness will be your dwelling place, and it will consume you. You will be ever hungry for what you can never have. No darkness in Alleble will be as you.”
Paragal’s eyes flickered and flashed red for a moment.
“You have no power to pronounce this,” Paragal said through his teeth. His grip tightened on the sword, and he prepared to deliver a mighty stroke. But the blade did not fall. In fact, it could not fall, for King Eliam held it up by force of his own will. And then he spoke once more.
“What you are about to do, do it now, but know: You do not command this. I am allowing it. And nothing will ever rescue you from the doom you have chosen.”
“No!” Paragal screamed, but it came out in a hiss like a venomous snake. And like the strike of a cobra, he brought the blade down swiftly on the King’s neck.
5
REALMS THAT
LIE UNSEEN
Noooooooo!” cried Aidan, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He raised his arms, trying desperately to ward off an attack. But the attack was not there in his room. It was back in his dream, his nightmare. Aidan’s chest heaved. His bedclothes were drenched in cold sweat. Aidan shivered.
He looked down at the scrolls, the account of the Great Betrayal. He had seen it in his dreams, and it was horrible. Aidan tried to shake the vivid images from his mind, but they held on.
He’d done it. The, the—Aidan could not find a word severe enough to describe Paragor. He had taken the love of his King and kingdom, and their trust as well, and he had paid them back with treachery. Paragor’s face, once noble and proud, had become twisted with rage and hate. That face . . .
Aidan realized with horror that it was not the first time he had seen that face. The warrior from the recurring dream. It’s him! It’s Paragor!
Aidan felt a sharp pain in his chest, and he doubled over.
Aidan staggered to the hall bathroom and splashed icy water on his face. His heart pounded. But how did Paragor get into my dreams before I ever read the scrolls?
Aidan dried his face with a towel, looked up into the mirror, and reeled backward. In the reflection he saw himself surrounded by the desperate, haunted faces of the children from the fountain. They were so . . . so sad.
Deep in a doubt-shrouded corner of Aidan’s mind, an impossible thought stirred. But it was impossible, wasn’t it? Aidan looked back at the mirror, and the faces were gone.
Aidan stood at his bedroom door and stared at the third scroll bundle. It lay, still secured with its leather lace, waiting.
No, as much as he wanted to find out what became of the Elder Guard and the Kingdom of Alleble, Aidan needed a break. Aidan went down to the kitchen. Grampin was there, still asleep in his chair.
All he does is sleep, Aidan thought disdainfully. Aidan slipped around him and opened the pantry door. Mannnnn, the brownies are all gone! Aidan cast an accusative eye on his grandfather. Sure enough, there were brownie crumbs in his lap. Sleep—and eat, Aidan corrected himself.
Settling for option number two, he poured a bowl of dry cereal, grabbed a spoon, and turned around. For a split second, Aidan thought that Grampin’s eyes had been open. Aidan studied his grandfather suspiciously. His head was bent forward, chin resting on his chest. His hands were folded in his brownie-crumb lap, and his upper body inflated slowly with each sleepy breath. He sure looked like he was asleep. Aidan wondered.
Aidan set the empty bowl on his bedside table. Now he felt ready to open the third scroll. Aidan untied the lace, spread open the scroll, and stared.
He went back to the last few pages of the second scroll. He reread the horribly tragic balcony scene above Guard’s Keep, and then looked back at the first page of the third scroll.
It didn’t make sense. On the first page of the third scroll, there was what looked like a poem.
Aidan scowled. But what happened to the Elder Guard and the children? A cold feeling in the pit of Aidan’s stomach suggested that whatever happened in Alleble after Paragal murdered King Eliam, it was not good.
He looked down at the poem. The words, written in black ink, shimmered blue as Aidan turned the page at angles in the light. Aidan ran his fingers over several verses and discovered that the text was slightly raised and had its own texture. This text was meant to stand out, Aidan thought. And he began to read.
There are passages and doors
And realms that lie unseen.
There are roads both wide and narrow
And no avenue between.
Doors remain closed for those
Who in sad vanity yet hide.
Yet when belief is chosen,
The key appears inside.
What is lived now will soon pass,
And what is not will come to be.
The Door Within must open,
For one to truly see.
Though he had no idea what the poem meant, Aidan read it again and again. It was some sort of riddle—that much was clear. And Aidan had an odd suspicion that the riddle was meant for him to solve.
Eager for an explanation, Aidan moved aside the poem parchment. The next page, however, was blank.
Aidan scrunched up his eyebrows. The following page was blank as well. He hurriedly turned over each of the last five pages of the scroll, but they were all void of writing.
“AArrggh!” he growled, looking around his room for someone to explain this great injustice. It couldn’t just end there— with no mention of what became of the Elder Guard and no explanation of the mysterious poem. But there they were: seven blank pages.
Confused and more than a little annoyed, Aidan turned back to the page with the poem. Perhaps there were answers there. He read it through again, but froze on the last two lines.
The Door Within must open,
For one to truly see.
Do you see?
Aidan blinked. Gooseflesh rippled up his arms. There was a new line at the end of the poem! He was absolutely sure it hadn’t been there before!
A car door slammed, followed by another, and Aidan looked out his window. Both his parents were home. Dad’s early, Aidan thought. He looked back at the poem and swallowed, for there was another line.
Believe and enter.
6
FAIRY TALES
What’s goin’ on?” Aidan asked. No one answered, but he heard the front door open downstairs. Adrenaline surging in his veins, Aidan bounded down the stairs and nearly steamrolled his parents.
“Mom, Dad, guess what I foun—”
“Please—Whoa, Aidan . . son,” Mr. Thomas exclaimed, catching Aidan by the shoulders. “Ever heard of walking down the stairs?”
“Sorry, Dad,” Aidan said, his heart still galloping. “But I just wanted to tell you something. See, I was exploring the basement this afternoon and––”
The shrill chirp of a cell phone cut Aidan off.
“That’s mine,” Mr. Thomas said. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a tiny silver phone. “Oh, hi, Doug. What’s up?”
Aidan felt like he was about to burst.
Mr. Thomas frowned and turned slightly. “Are you serious?” he said into the phone. “Right now?” He glanced at his wife guiltily and at Aidan.
“Of course, I know this account is important,” he continued. “Okay, let me go into my office.” Aidan’s dad put a hand over the phone. “It’s Riddick and Dunn. I have to take a conference call. Sorry, Aidan, we’ll have to talk at dinner.”
“But,” Aidan stammered. His father walked into his home office and closed the French doors. Aidan turned to his mom.
“So, Mom, I was in
the basement––” Aidan began, but he was cut off a third time.
“Honey, tell us all about it at dinner,” his mom said. “I’ve got to run a quick errand.”
“But, Mom.”
“You can tell us everything at dinner.”
Dinner?! Wait until dinner?! The greatest discovery of my life and they tell me to wait until dinner?!!
But Aidan waited until dinner.
At dinner, Aidan’s mother, father, and grandfather ate as Aidan told them the story about the basement, the sparkles, and the scrolls. He told them everything that he could remember from the scrolls, especially about the poem and the words that had “magically” appeared on the last page.
“. . . and it said that if I believed, I could enter.”
When Aidan had finished, he looked around the table. His parents wore raised eyebrows and crooked smiles. Mrs. Thomas put her hand on her husband’s hand. They glanced at each other knowingly, then turned to Aidan.
“Isn’t our son cute?” Aidan’s mom gushed.
“What an imagination!” Aidan’s dad agreed.
Grampin was silent.
“Cute! Imagination?!” Aidan exploded, widening eyes all around the kitchen table. “I’m NOT making this up!”
Aidan rushed out of the kitchen, nearly stepping on Marbles, his grandfather’s cat, who had a terrible habit of walking leisurely in front of people. Grabbing the three bundles of scrolls off the bed, he ran back downstairs to show his family the proof.
As he unrolled for them the ancient pages of parchment, Aidan’s mother and father gawked open-mouthed. But Grampin just nodded and smiled.
“Guess it wasn’t jest the young feller’s eemagination, huh?” he said.
“Yeah!” Aidan agreed, liking Grampin a small bit.
Mr. Thomas took a few of the pages and looked at them closely.
“Hmmm,” he said. “Show me where you found these, son.”
Grampin, confined to his wheelchair, remained in the kitchen, but everyone else descended into the basement.
Aidan knew why they wanted to go check the basement. Proof. They wanted proof. That was it.
The Door Within Page 3
